Invisible and Alive

Last night or early this morning I had a dream about my uncle. When I woke up and he was gone (again), I felt lost. Hours later, I still do. Then I had a dream that my teeth fell out. I’ve had this dream so many times that it doesn’t frighten me anymore. I sat there and collected the teeth in my hands, noticing I had more teeth here than I ever did in waking life. I went to the mirror to look at my empty black mouth, smiling earnestly to myself, and then I woke up. I looked out the window, and the snow was neon blue because the sky was still drowsy and the earth was not yet bright.

Sometimes I worry that I don’t know what my purpose is. I wonder if I’ll ever matter to someone, people other than my family and close friends, and then I wonder why that’s something I worry about. Working and studying in the academy, it sometimes feels like there’s an assumption or expectation that you want to or should do something that “matters,” in terms of writing a meaningful book, an impactful article, a powerful lecture or conference presentation, or something like that. I’m only in the second year of my PhD program, but I feel pressure everywhere. Even the bricks in the buildings and sidewalks on campus seem to jostle against each other for a place to matter. We trip over them as we’re walking and hope no one sees.

The older I get, the more I want to move away from the dehydrating portions of ego that leave you shriveled and never satisfied with yourself. The way it feels when you have a session with a therapist who isn’t very good at their job and you pay the co-pay feeling hollow yet dutiful because you did something you were supposed to do. You “practiced” self-care. It’s the way it feels when you eat fast food and feel empty again an hour later, also hating yourself just a little. I daydream what it would be like to live invisibly and content with the knowing I did the best I could. I think it would feel something like living on a beach that doesn’t exist on the map, loving people whose love in return nourish your soul like the warmth of the color orange.

Social media isn’t real. Sometimes I feel insecure that I don’t have more followers on Instagram, but then I remember I don’t want strangers or people I don’t care about in my business. But I’m also just a girl who wants to be seen (?). (A girl? Yes? And do I want to be seen? Or do I just think I should want to be seen?) This is a world with an Internet, and staring at a screen for too long makes you start to question yourself. Am I living life as efficiently, as aesthetically pleasing, as influentially as I could be? Or rather, why should I?

How can I learn to enjoy the matter of me, and practice contentment in invisibility?

I look out the window again, and the snow is beginning to melt, the neon blue replaced with sparkling white.